


almost there

by localgaysian (leslytherinphoenix)



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-08 17:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslytherinphoenix/pseuds/localgaysian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghostbusters branch out a little. Or, the one in which Abby’s uncle calls in a favor, so they pile into Ecto-1 and drive down to Louisiana to hunt some ghosts in the Big Easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

Abby should probably check her phone more often.

Then she would have noticed her uncle calling the first time. Or the second time. Or the third time. And so on. When Abby finally does turn her phone back on, she has 12 voicemails from various family members, ranging from her cousin Ernie – yes, Ernie, and no, she doesn't have a cousin Bert, thanks for asking, Holtzmann – to her mother. Fingers twitching slightly, she calls her mom back. 

“Abby!” Dr. Cynthia Yates, Ph.D has always managed to sound slightly hysterical on the phone, but this is on a completely new level.

“Mom?” Abby motions furiously at the radio, which is blasting ABBA at full volume. Erin, bless her, turns the radio off quickly, leaving Holtzmann and Patty waving their arms in the air to complete silence.

“We were having a dance party,” Holtzmann complains. Patty whacks her on the shoulder and points at Abby, then makes a shushing noise.

“Is everything okay?” Abby swallows. The last time she had this many people calling – actually, she can't remember ever having this many people calling her. Kevin takes all of the Ghostbusters' calls, and other than that, she's nearly constantly with everyone she talks to on a regular basis. She lowers her voice. “Did someone die?”

There's a slight hesitation on the other end that makes Abby's stomach flip. “Well,” her mother says, “not exactly. I mean, someone did die, a while ago, but –”

“And I'm just finding out about this?” Abby clutches her phone tightly, still anxious. “Who died?!”

Her mom sighs. “Sweetie, Uncle Lou needs a favor.”  
  
Abby wrinkles her forehead in confusion. “What does that have to do with – oh my god, Mom.” Her mouth drops open. “I am not _disposing of a body for him!_ That doesn't even make sense! I can't come down to Louisiana just to help Uncle Lou get away with murder!”

“Monkey.” Her mother's voice is flat. “He needs a... a ghostbusting favor.” 

“Oh,” Abby says lamely, relieved that no one is dead, and that she doesn't have to bury a body. She would've done a lousy job anyway. “Well, what does he need?”

“He's taking over the Bourbon Hotel,” her mother starts. “And--”  
  
“Oh, that's great news!” Abby beams. “Aunt Sheri must be so proud.”  
  
“--Abby, honey, don't interrupt.” Her mother clears her throat. “He wants the... the ghosts out.” A pause. The Ghostbusters are trying to listen in discreetly and failing at the subtlety. “The ghosts at the hotel. The hotel's ghosts. The—”  
  
“I get it, Mom.”  
  
“So you'll do it?” Her voice – as much as a voice _can_ – perks up.  
  
Abby chews her bottom lip. “This is my job, Mom. It's not some neighborhood business that I can just pack up and move. New York _needs_ us.”  
  
“Can't you just try? You can live in Uncle Lou's pool house. They'll give you food. It'll be like a little vacation, Monkey. Except not, because you're working.”  
  
“We're sponsored by the mayor of New York City, don't you think we should stay here?”  
  
“I already called in a favor at city council,” Dr. Yates says proudly. “They’ll give him a call.”  
  
“Alright,” Abby says, suddenly tired. “If that works, I guess.” She hangs up without listening for her mother's response. The Ghostbusters, thoroughly confused by the half of the conversation they heard, stay quiet for a minute, then burst with questions.  
  
“Your Uncle _killed_ someone--?” Erin is pale. Well, paler than usual.  
  
“And his wife is proud of him? What kind of white people crap?” Patty crosses her arms.  
  
Holtzmann shrugs. “I could make a cadaver disappear. If you need it to. I can also make it glow green with radioactivity.” She pauses, then grimaces.  “That might not be very subtle.”  
  
“My uncle didn't kill anyone,” Abby says plainly. She puts a hand on her hip. “He wants us to come bust some ghosts in his hotel. In New Orleans.”  
  
Silence. Then –  
  
“Holy crap, let's do it.” Holtzmann slaps a table. “Road trip, guys. Come on.”  
  
Erin rubs her forehead. “You know, from, like, a business perspective it would be, um, good to branch out. I mean, for our brand, it's like--”  
  
“That city has all sorts of spooky history,” Patty says, walking over to the bookshelf and pulling out a tome that would probably kill any person it fell on. “Myrtle's Mansion, the Axeman, LaLaurie House--”  
  
Holtzmann looks at Patty dubiously. “I thought that was from American Horror Story.”  
  
“Girl, you know you only watch that show for Sarah Paulson.” Patty shakes her head, flipping the book open. “Abby, what's your uncle's hotel called?”  
  
“The Bourbon,” Abby says, impatient. “But guys, don't you think we should really stay here?”  
  
“Ummmmm, no.” Holtzmann shakes her head enthusiastically, hair flopping back and forth.  
  
Erin clears her throat. “It would be good for branching out,” she says.  
  
“There's a ton of crap in that hotel,” Patty says, pointing at a page in the book. “It even has its own subheading in the “New Orleans” chapter.”  
  
Abby sighs. “But logistics! We can't just –”  
  
“Uh, guys?” It's Kevin. He emerges from the first floor, clinging to the fire pole. The first time Erin saw him climb it, she nearly fainted. “I'm out of doughnut holes.”  
  
Abby sighs. “We'll go shopping tonight, okay? We'll do a Krispy Kreme run.”  
  
“You're the best, Abby.” Kevin does finger guns at her and nearly goes sliding down the pole. “Shit!” He  manages to catch himself and pulls himself back up. “Oh, and you got a call from the mayor. He says it's important.” He slides down the pole, landing with a painful sounding thump.  
  
“Damn,” Abby curses under her breath. “Well, you heard the guy, let's go.”  
  


\--

  
“Ghostbusters!” Jennifer Lynch greets them with a genuine if lipstick-smudged smile. “Hello, hello, come in; please don't step on the carpet in those boots; make yourself comfortable.” She blinks at them, smile slightly souring as Holtzmann drapes herself across a chair and places her boots smack-dab on the carpet.   
  
Mayor Bradley clears his throat. “So I just got a call--”  
  
“Guys! We're going on Oprah!” Erin shrieks, almost falling out of her chair.  
  
“--from Mitch Landrieu,” Bradley finishes, silencing Erin with a pointed look in her direction.  
  
“As in the mayor of New Orleans Mitch Landrieu?” Abby laces her fingers together and puts them on her lap.  
  
Mayor Bradley clears his throat again. “Yes, the only relevant Mitch Landrieu. He wants you to go to New Orleans to, uh, do some busting.”  
  
“I hope you understand that this isn't a viable option for us,” Ms. Lynch explains. “You're funded by the city of New York, to perform services for us, not –”

“We need you here,” Mayor Bradley cuts in. “You can't leave us.” Then, quieter: “please don't leave us.”  
  
“So the ghost problem in New York is so urgent that we can't even go for, say, a week?” Erin sits up with perfect posture, ever the picture of the overqualified and underpaid academic. “What would the public say if they found out?”  
  
Mayor Bradley and Ms. Lynch trade a look. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” Bradley asks, and they whisper furiously to each other for about five minutes.  
  
“Man, that was a gamble, Erin,” Patty says quietly, shooting a look at Mayor Bradley and Ms. Lynch to make sure that they're still deep in their own conversation. Erin shrugs.  
  
Abby rolls her eyes. “Uncle Lou will be fine without us,” she says. “It's really not such a big deal. Why don't we just –”  
  
“Abby, I just need a change of scenery,” Erin whines. “There's been, like, one ghost a week for the past three weeks. Last time we had baby hamster ghosts! I didn't even have to use my proton pack. And they were too small to bring into the containment unit.”

Abby points at her accusingly. “We did a good deed for a little girl who got closure from watching her hamster eat her young. It was a public service.”  
  
“Yeah, tell that to her therapist,” Holtzmann says. “She'll be scarred for life.”  
  
“It has been getting slow lately.” Patty shrugs. “Maybe it'll be a little more interesting if we move down there for a week or so.”  
  
Erin sinks down in her chair. “I just want to do some real busting. It's been so boring--”  
  
“And you think running around with your proton pack in 100 degree heat with 98% humidity is going to change that? Wh--”  
  
Mayor Bradley and Ms. Lynch stop talking and turn to face them again. The Ghostbusters quiet; Abby crosses her arms. Mayor Bradley opens his mouth, then closes it again. And opens it. And closes it. “One week,” he says, finally. “You have one week. And then you're back in New York. You drive. You pay for gas.”  
  
“Yes!” Patty says, and turns to high-five Holtzmann and Erin, who is bouncing so excitedly in her chair that it might tip over. “We're going to New Orleans!”  
  
Holtzmann whoops. “Party time,” she sings, then stops when she sees the look on Mayor Bradley's face.  
  
“Abby, come on, be excited.” Erin nudges Abby in the shoulder, who really doesn't look thrilled. In fact, she looks downright pissed off. Almost like that one time she accidentally swallowed ectoplasm. “You get to visit your family, we get a little time off--”  
  
“But it's my uncle,” Abby says miserably. “He's so annoying! He always talks about cars! And he has cats. Four cats.” Her eyes are itching at the thought. She can already feel a sneeze coming on. “Come on, Erin, you know my mom is always trying to get me to move down there. Ever since Dad died and she went back.”  
  
Erin sighs. “It's just a week, Abby. We'll trap the ghosts, we'll come home. Maybe we can even bring some back.”  
  
“Fine,” Abby mutters, staring at Holtz and Patty. They're dancing around the room enthusiastically shouting “New Orleans!” over and over again, much to the horror of Ms. Lynch and Mayor Bradley. Holtzmann is doing T-rex arms. Patty is moving her head right and left and spinning around in circles. “Well, at least they're excited,” Abby sighs. “Let's go. We need to get packed up and ready to leave.”  
  


\--  
 

By the time they're packed, the equipment is loaded into the hearse, and Kevin is briefed on what's happening this next week and what he's not allowed to touch (everything on the second floor), it's almost four in the morning. Holtzmann is cheerily whistling as she locks the door to her lab. Erin fell asleep half an hour ago on a spinny chair, jerking awake everytime it moves. Abby and Patty sit on the couch upstairs, researching the hotel.

“I think we should leave tomorrow morning,” Abby says once Erin is more or less woken up, and they're all situated on the couch. “We can't drive when we're this tired.”

“Speak for yourself.” Holtzmann crosses her legs and puts them on the coffee table. “I'm wide awake, baby.”  
  
“You'll kill us all,” Patty says, unamused.  
  
Erin yawns into the back of her hand. “Maybe we should get some sleep first.”  
  
“I don't know, guys.” Holtzmann clicks her tongue. “I think we get some coffee and we're good to go.”  
  
“It's a 19-hour drive,” Abby says, looking at the map that's sprawled across the table. “You can't last that long, Holtzmann. Even on coffee.”  
  
Holtzmann wiggles her eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Abby says, while Patty violently shakes her head. Erin has fallen back asleep.  
  
“Maybe if I drink an espresso?” Holtzmann's voice is hopeful.  
  
“NO.” Abby glares at her. “You are not driving 19 hours without a good night's sleep.”  
  
Patty sits up. “Wait, who says Holtzy has to drive all the time? We can just take shifts. That little caffeinated freak--”  
  
Holtzmann raises her hand.  
  
“--can drive the first five hours while I nap, then I'll drive, then Abby can take over, and once Sleeping Beauty over there decides to regain consciousness she can drive.”  
  
In response, Erin snores lightly, letting her face fall onto Abby's shoulder.  
  
Abby grimaces. “That seems a little safer, I guess.” She shrugs. “Okay. We'll do it. But you have to help me carry Erin down. She's a lot heavier than she looks.”  
  
Patty grins triumphantly. “Holtzy? That sound like a plan to you?”

“I'm disappointed you don’t trust me,” Holtzmann declares, “but I'll work with it.” She gets up and stretches. “Let's go.”  


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they go to Waffle House.

Erin's alarm goes off at 5:45 A.M., blasting the Macarena.

“Seriously?” Abby says, yawning. Her neck aches. “Erin, turn it off.” 

“Ya, really,” Holtzmann says, glancing towards the backseat. Her hands tighten on the wheel. “Some of us are trying to sleep up here. Like me.”

Patty, barely awake, glares at her. “Don't be like that, Holtz. Don't kill us all.”

“Yeah, maybe it's time to switch off,” Abby says. “I'll drive.” She's still buried in Erin's shoulder, though. It's not convincing.

“You will also kill us all,” Patty points out. “Pull over, Holtzy. I'll drive.”

Holtzmann yawns. “Okaaaaaaaay,” she says, pulling over to the side of the road and parking. “Where are we?”

“I think we're in Maryland?” Abby nudges Erin, who's still snoring a little. “Erin, honey, you gotta turn your alarm off.”

Erin whines and unlocks her phone, snoozing her alarm. “I just wanna sleep,” she mumbles.

“No snooze,” Abby says firmly, taking the phone from her and turning it off. “Okay guys, switch spots so we can get going again; I want to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

“We should think about putting a casket in the back,” Holtzmann says, getting out of the car so Patty can slide over to the driver's seat. “For nap purposes.”

“Not one of my uncle's caskets.” Patty puts the car into drive. “It's a miracle he gave us another one of his cars.” She presses the gas pedal. “Okay, y'all. Let's do this thing.” No response. Patty turns around. “What is wrong with – ” She rolls her eyes. They're all asleep.

 

\--

 

Patty figures that the good thing about piloting a hearse full of sleeping friends is gaining a lot of blackmail material. Erin, for example, talks in her sleep. A lot. About Physics and unicorns and, she's pretty sure, Holtzmann, which makes Patty laugh. Holtzmann, on the other hand, is a giant sleep cuddle monster. She's already tried to put her head on Patty's shoulder twice, which is a bad idea because Patty can't turn the steering wheel when there's a mop of blonde hair hair on her arm. Every time, Patty's gently taken a hand and pushed Holtzmann's head off of her until it plunks against the window. Somehow, Holtzmann hasn't woken up yet. She did try to hug the car door, though. Patty keeps snickering just thinking about it.

Abby just grinds her teeth when she sleeps. To be honest, it sounds kind of painful.

Studying her friends' sleeping patterns is fun for about twenty minutes, and then it's damn boring. Patty yawns. “Y'all mind if I put on an audiobook?” she asks, and since none of them reply, she figures it wouldn't bother them too much. She downloaded _Haunted New Orleans_ specifically for this reason. She props her iPhone up on the dashboard and presses play, thankful that she remembered to bring her speakers. Maybe some of the history stuff will bleed into her teammates' ears as they sleep.

She's heard all the stories before, but New Orleans history is pretty damn cool, even hearing it the second time. Pretty messed up, too – but Patty supposes that's just what happens when you build a city in a miserable swamp. She doesn't even want to know how gross and sticky her coveralls will get after a day in southern Louisiana, but she has worse things to do than go on vacation and bust some racist ghosts – and they will be racist, Patty is pretty sure. It's freakin' _Louisiana._ She will bust those slaveowners right down to hell. Boom – headshot with the proton gun. And then she'll get herself a daquiri. Strawberry kiwi, if they have that combo. She can already taste it in her mouth. Patty grins and drums her hands against the steering wheel. Nothing but the open road ahead. The monotonous narrator – hey, it was a free download – drones on and on about the Axeman of New Orleans.

While it would be ridiculous to claim that ghosts don't exist, given what Patty's been through – and she's been through a LOT – she still can't bring herself to believe every story. The Axeman is one of them. He just sounds like a really enthusiastic, sneakier than average serial killer. Oh, and a jazz enthusiast – that letter he wrote to the paper asking everyone to play jazz or die is ridiculous. She can tell the audiobook's narrator is trying not to laugh as he reads it aloud.

_“They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman._

_“When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody_ axe _, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.”_

'Besmeared with blood and brains.' Patty snorts. Not even Holtzmann is that overdramatic. Anyway, knowing what she does about ghosts just makes her call bullshit on the entire story. “A demon from hell” wouldn't have the discipline to sit down and write a note. And she still doesn't know exactly what was all fluttering in that portal that Rowan conjured up, but she's pretty sure that playing Jazz wouldn't have stopped any of them.

Shit, this state is boring. She accelerates a little, hoping it'll get them out of Maryland faster.

“ _Chapter Two: Haunted Hotels_ ,” the narrator announces. Patty sits up. She's done a little reading on Abby's uncle's hotel, but more historical information is always useful. _“The city, having been made into a place of murder and mystery by_ –”

Damn, when will the book stop with the passive sentence construction? Patty grits her teeth. She's starting to think about buying a copy just so that she can go to town on it with a red pen and a highlighter. Maybe she'll mail it in to the publisher with a strongly worded note. _Fix your damn sentence structure! Regards, Patty Tolan, Ghostbuster._ And she's pretty sure some of these historical facts are wrong, too. People are so lazy when they're trying to make up ghosts and interesting stories. They've had enough people call the firehouse, babbling on about scary ghosts in chains and puritan dress in buildings that were built in 1970 where there was only farmland before. Most of the time they just want an autograph. Or a date with Holtzmann.

Anyway.

There are a lot of haunted hotels in New Orleans – not surprising, given the other shit people get up to in that city, but still. Patty listens through one that used to be a streetcar depot and has screaming nuns (or something) and a hotel that used to be an orphanage (heck no, Patty thinks. Honestly. If a tiny screaming child crying tears of blood came at her, she would still prefer to jump through a wall than engage). She tunes out a little – despite everything she's seen, all this crap sounds a little cartoonish. Apart from the awful Rowan ghosts, everything else they've caught so far has been kinda tame.

“ _The Bourbon Hotel_ –” the narrator says, and Patty perks up, “ – _is known for its splendor and_ glamour _. But behind its beauty lies a dark past, famously explored by psychics in a widely-covered séance in the 1980s. A site of luxury from the start, the Bourbon Hotel started its life as a ballroom, then a convent, school, and orphanage_ –”

Uh oh. Shrieking children, here they come.

 _“ – before finally being modeled into a hotel in 1964. A multitude of ghosts_ roam _its halls, including a Confederate soldier and elegant party guests, arriving and dancing eternally in the hotel's grand ballroom. Other instances of paranormal activity include ghostly, childlike laughter, and an apparition of a girl rolling her ball down the halls. The Yellow Fever Epidemic claimed countless lives in the orphanage, and while some historical records are preserved, the true scope of the tragedy remains unknown.”_

Lovely, Patty thinks. That seems to be all this book has to say about that, because the narrator promptly starts talking about the next haunted hotel, which apparently has a floating girl who stares at people while they sleep. The afterlife must be really boring, Patty figures. Don't they have something better to do?

She feels a hand on her arm and nearly jumps out of her seat. “Easy, Patty,” Holtzmann says.

Patty, slightly recovered, rolls her eyes. “What's up, Holtzy?”

Holtzmann's head is still squashed against the window. Her eyes are closed, and she feels blindly around for Patty's arm before finding it again and tapping it impatiently. “Let's go to Waffle House. I saw a sign.”

“How the heck?” Patty looks at the side of the road. No Waffle House sign. “You were asleep.”

“Patty, it's like an instinct.” Holtz sits up and rubs her eyes.

“A Waffle House instinct?” Patty raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, exactly,” Holtzmann says. She tilts her neck. It pops, loudly and unpleasantly. “Boom, crack, the sound of my joints.”

Patty winces. “Someday you are going to do that and your head will fall right off.”

“Worth it,” Holtzmann says and stretches. “Okay, for Waffle House, you're gonna have to take that exit.” She points at the sign on the side of the road.

“Ask the other two,” Patty says flatly.

Holtzmann twists around in her seat. “Abby, Erin,” she says. No response. They're still sleeping. “If you have anything against us going to Waffle House, just very clearly and loudly say no.”

Erin snores a little bit. Abby smacks her lips and says something that sounds like “penguin.”

Holtzmann turns back to Patty. “They're cool,” she says triumphantly.

“Fine,” Patty sighs and turns on the turn signal. “But you better eat fast. I'm not spending another night on the road and we still got fifteen hours to go.”

 

\--

 

“Are we there yet?” Erin asks when they pull into the Waffle House parking lot – Holtzmann whispered “told you so” when the sign came into view – and park at the back of the parking lot, where Ecto-1 won't draw too much attention. “That was quick.”

Abby yawns and straightens up. “It feels like an elephant has been stomping on my neck all night.” She grimaces and wiggles around a little bit, trying to lose the stiffness.

“Holtzy here wants to go to Waffle House,” Patty explains and turns the engine off. Immediately, Holtzmann jumps out of the car. “I think she's been looking forward to this.”

“We have IHOP in New York,” Erin says, getting out of the car. She blinks a few times, trying to properly wake up. “It's basically the same thing.”

“Uh, disagree,” Abby says and steps out onto the concrete. Holtzmann is already at the door, waving excitedly. “But there's Waffle House in New Jersey.”

“Okay, I'm not gonna lie, I'm getting a little hungry,” Patty announces and slams the car door behind her. “Let's get some waffles.”

Holtzmann waves again from the door. “Waffles, guys!” she calls.

They sigh and start walking across the parking lot. Holtzmann opens the door for Erin with a gallant bow and holds it open for the rest of the Ghostbusters.

“I kinda want bacon,” Abby mutters when she steps inside.

“The entire world is at your feet,” Holtzmann says, letting the door fall closed behind her. She sticks her hands into her pockets and sniffs the air.  


\--

 

“How many chocolate chip waffles did you order?” Patty asks, drying her hands on her pants and sliding into the booth next to Holtzmann, who's attacking what looks like a small tower of waffles. 

“Enough,” Holtzmann says, mouth full. She points at the plate in front of Patty. “Your food came.”

Patty coughs. “Just remember we're driving all day,” she says and takes a sip of coffee. “Erin, did you get a kids' meal?”

“No,” Erin says, a single solitary waffle on her plate. “Those are for 'ten and under.'' She pulls a face.

“Are you sure that's enough food?” Abby asks, eating a hash brown.

“I get sort of carsick when I'm in the car for a long time,” Erin says, looking down. “I just don't want to overdo it.”

“Maybe you should sit in the front,” Holtzmann says, enthusiastically still eating and definitely not caring about overdoing it. “Less bumpy.”

“It's okay.” Erin cautiously takes a bite of her waffle.

“You sure?” Holtzmann asks. She pauses and swallows. “Vomiting out a window isn't a good look for anyone, even you.” She keeps on eating. The tower is getting significantly smaller.

Erin takes another bite. “Not that bad, Holtzmann.”

“If you say so,” Holtzmann says and finishes her second to last waffle. “I'm sorta full. Anyone want the last one?”

Patty snorts and chews on a piece of bacon. “Take it on the road, baby. Just don't get greasy fingerprints all over the leather.”

Abby finishes her hash brown. “So what is our time of arrival, as of now?” she asks.

Patty checks her watch. “I'd say about eleven-thirty,” she says. “If we speed.”  
  
“Got it,” Holtzmann says and makes finger guns at her.  

“Better text my uncle,” Abby sighs. “He was probably planning to get my entire family to greet us enthusiastically.”

“I thought you were from Michigan,” Patty says. “Didn't y'all meet there?” She looks at Erin and Abby.

“Battle Creek,” Erin confirms and wipes her mouth with a napkin.

“My family is from New Orleans,” Abby says, tapping her phone screen. “Dang it, this thing is so annoying. It keeps freezing.”

“Here, let me –” Holtzmann makes a grab for the phone, but Abby holds it out of reach.

“The last time you tried to fix my phone, you just smacked it against a table,” Abby says. “Anyway, Mom grew up there, and then she went back there for a little bit to do research, and then she was like “I hate this! There are so many mosquitos!” so she left.”

“I respect that.” Patty nods solemnly. “So your uncle lives there, and, what, your cousins?”

“The entire gang.” Abby grimaces a little. “Uncle, cousins, my _other_ uncle and his husband, my grandparents – really, I'm probably related to about 1/16th of the town.”

“She always went down there for Mardi Gras,” Erin says. “I really wanted to go with her at least once but my parents never let me.”

“Yeah, something about not wanting their daughter to get hit in the head with a spear or a bag of beads.” Abby shrugs. “So overprotective.”

Patty looks at her questioningly. “Did that happen often?”

“Eh.” Abby shrugs again. “Sometimes.”

“Our senior year she came home with this giant bruise over her eye.” Erin shudders at the thought. “It looked really bad. Like someone had hit her over the face with a pan or something.”

“And it was... Mardi Gras beads?” Patty makes a face.

Abby nods cheerfully. “Yep. Got whacked with a five pound bag.”

“But you caught it, right?” Holtzmann asks, peering over her coffee cup.

Abby blinks. “With my face, Holtzmann. With my face.”

“Yikes,” Holtzmann mutters and puts her cup down.

“So,” Patty says, slapping the table, “we ready to keep going?”

 

\--

 

Holtzmann, of course, manages to get them fantastically turned around once they actually get to the city, which means that their tentative arrival time of 11:30 P.M. turns into an arrival time of – well, later, including three bathroom breaks (one mainly so that Holtz could buy pringles). Abby is useless at navigating – “I haven't been here since college,” she says as an excuse. It's 12:10 when they finally find the street Abby's uncle lives on – it's smooth, wide. Looks pleasant. Impressive-looking houses with automatic watering systems flank each side. Streetlights illuminate every corner. There's a strip of grass down the middle of the street, which Abby calls “a neutral ground” and Holtzmann calls “a strip of grass.”

“Where are we again?” Holtzmann asks.

“How do you still not know?” Patty asks, exasperated.

“Really, Holtz,” Abby says.

“We just passed Panola,” Erin says, hoping to keep them all from bickering. Twenty hours, and the only sleep they've had is at awkward angles in a moving car. It's a wonder they're not using the hearse for its intended purpose yet. “Like the oil.”

“I think you mean Canola, dear,” Holtz says. Her mouth quirks. “Looks like you gotta _spruce_ up your vocabulary.”

“What?” Erin says, then realizes that “Spruce” is the name of the next cross street. “Holtzmann –”

“Cone of shame, Erin, cone of shame.” Holtzmann shakes her head. Erin doesn't even want to look at the street sign. Sure enough – Cohn. Damn. She waits for them to reach the next street, then throws up her hands in indignation.

“How am I supposed to come up with something for Hickory Street?!” Erin asks, exasperated.

Holtzmann clicks her tongue. They pass Green Street. “You are a bit _green_ at this, aren't you?”

Erin squints to look at the next street sign. Finally, something she can use. “Well, you don't have to be a _birch_ about it,” she says triumphantly.

“Okay, enough of this,” Patty says, leaning forward and sticking her head between the driver's and the passenger's seats. “Either of y'all got anything for Jeanette Street? No? Didn't think so,” she says and leans back.

“And that's my uncle's house,” Abby says, pointing at an elegant looking house with columns in the front. They park in the driveway and get out, stretching their legs. Holtzmann wipes at her glasses – they've fogged up completely in the humidity.

The front door swings open and the Ghostbusters freeze. A large, imposing looking man strides down the front steps, dressed in an evening suit more appropriate for a Mardi Gras ball than a night at home. “Abigail!” He waves.

“This is my Uncle Lou,” Abby says. “Uncle Lou, Patty, Erin, Holtzmann –”

“Lovely to meet you,” Lou says and shakes all of their hands. “And you, Abby! You look so grown up!”

“I'm 45,” Abby mutters. Uncle Lou steps forward and envelopes her into an enthusiastic hug. _Free me,_ Abby mouths over his shoulder to her friends. _Please._

They snicker a little, not moving. _Dear God,_ Abby thinks. _It's going to be a long week._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be a plot soon!


	3. part three

When Holtzmann wakes up, it's almost noon. She uncurls herself from the pillow she's been using as a replacement for the stuffed animals she left in New York and yawns, enthusiastically throwing the blanket to the side. It hits Abby in the face.

“Holtzmann – ” Abby says, blinking groggily. “I swear – ”

“Do you think we're allowed to jump into the pool from the window?” Holtzmann asks, springing out of bed and staring out at the yard.

“Absolutely not.” Abby slowly rolls out of bed and puts on her slippers. “It's late, Holtzy. We should go check if the others are up.”

Holtzmann bounds towards the door and tears it open, the shirt she wears to sleep sliding off her shoulder. “Patty,” she calls, walking down the hall. “Erin!”

Erin opens the door to their bedroom, fully clothed and hair straightened. “Thank God. I'm starving.”

“Are they awake?” Patty yells from inside the room. “I thought they were dead!”

“Still alive,” Holtzmann yells back. “Can we get breakfast? I think my stomach is digesting itself.”

Patty emerges out of the room, also fully made up and ready for the day. Holtzmann and Abby look at each other, still in their pajamas and with uncombed hair. “We'll be there in a minute,” Abby says. “You guys can go ahead.”

When Holtzmann and Abby walk out of the pool house – which, to be fair, is bigger than most normal houses – and into the main house, they're greeted by the sound of Erin and Patty's hysterical laughter in the kitchen. “Oh boy,” Abby says under her breath. “Here we go.” They walk into the kitchen. “Hi, Aunt Sheri,” Abby says pleasantly to a short blonde woman leaning against the counter.

“Abby!” Aunt Sheri says and leans in for a hug. “Oh, sweetie, it's great to see you.”

“Yeah,” Abby says, pulling away. “It's been a while.”

“Oh, but it's lovely to have you here,” Aunt Sheri says. “Sit, sit.” She motions towards the table. “I gather that this is Holtzmann?”

“Guilty as charged,” Holtzmann says and shakes her hand. She plops onto the chair next to Patty.

Abby sits down next to Erin. “I hope you guys weren't laughing at me,” she says.

Aunt Sheri smiles. “I was just telling them about that time you ate all the bananas,” she says. “When you had to go to the hospital for potassium poisoning?”

“I remember,” Abby says. “You weren't even there.”

“Oh, but your mother told me,” Aunt Sheri says.

Abby groans inwardly.

“Anyway, ladies, can I get you something to eat?” Aunt Sheri continues merrily. “We have a large dinner planned, some guests are coming – just some family, a few family friends, you know. Your mother, of course.” She motions towards Abby. “But I can offer you some cereals.” She motions to the carton of milk on the table and starts pulling cereal boxes out of the pantry. “Just help yourselves. Oh, here are some bowls.” The bowls are a cheery, bright yellow with flowers painted around the rim.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Patty says and grabs a box of Honey Nut Cheerios.

“Uh, excuse me?” Holtzmann raises her hand. “Do you have any Froot Loops?”

Aunt Sheri blinks. “Why, yes – I think we keep some around for my grandson, he enjoys it.” She rifles through the pantry, then puts a box of Froot Loops on the table.

“Yes,” Holtzmann says triumphantly and makes a grab for them. “I haven't had these in forever. My dad banned them from the house when I was a kid and I never remember to pick them up.”

“Why did he ban them?” Erin asks, horrified.

“He's homophobic,” Holtzmann says matter-of-factly.

Erin's jaw drops. “Seriously?”

“Nah,” Holtzmann says, shaking the box of Froot Loops over her bowl. “He didn't want me eating too much sugar.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Patty, can you pass the cheerios?”

“Sure thing,” Patty says and hands over the box. “You have a beautiful house, Ms. Yates.”

“My last name isn't Yates,” Aunt Sheri says pleasantly. “And you can all call me Aunt Sheri. Abby's family is your–”

“When are we going to see the hotel?” Abby asks, pushing her glasses up. “We only have six days left to get this done, you know.”

Aunt Sheri shrugs. “Your Uncle is at the hotel right now, but he can come pick you up whenever you're ready.”

“We need the car,” Abby fires back.

“Maybe Holtz can take the car and we'll go with your uncle?” Erin suggests. Patty nods in approval.

“That would work,” Aunt Sheri says.

Abby crosses her arms. “I'm going with Holtzmann,” she says. “I bet she'll need some – some help driving.”

“Yeah.” Holtzmann glances at Abby. “I can make that work. I'll get down into the footspace and operate the gas pedal and the brake by hand. You can steer.”

Abby rolls her eyes, but can't hide a grin. “Didn't mean it like that, Holtzy.”

Holtzmann winks. “I'm flexible.”

“You know, there's no use in driving separately and making your uncle come back for us,” Erin says, swallowing. “Why don't we go together?”

“Like rama lamma lamma ka dinga da dinga dong,” Holtzmann says, lips twitching.

“That's from that movie where they fly into the sun at the end, right?” Erin asks, pointing at Holtzmann with her spoon.

“Sweet, sweet, Erin.” Holtzmann shakes her head while Patty looks down, snickering. “That is not the point of Grease.”

“So that's settled,” Abby says quickly to avoid further discussion. “We'll leave after breakfast.” She smiles without showing her teeth.

–

“Oh my god, it's just like in the Disney movie!” Erin squeals once they're in the French Quarter, grabbing Holtzmann's arm in delight.

Abby snorts and breezes past her, proton pack on her back and suited up. “Please don't ever say that again,” she says.

“Sorry.” Erin glumly follows her. “It's just so pretty. So French.”

“Actually, most of the architecture is Spanish,” Patty says, gesturing around to the balconies. “See?” She points at a sign. “This street was called Calle Real when Louisiana was a Spanish colony.”

“Calle,” Erin says, wrinkling her forehead. “That's Spanish for horse.”

Patty opens her mouth to say something, then hesitates and tilts her head. “You know – Erin, baby – ”

“These ghosts aren't going to catch themselves,” Abby yells, standing a few feet away with her hands on her hips. “Come on, guys! We have to walk like seven blocks!”

“Why didn't we get to park by the hotel again?” Holtzmann asks, shifting her proton pack.

“The streets are too narrow for the hearse,” Abby explains. Grudgingly, the other three follow her. “Dang, it's hot.”

“And humid,” Erin says. She pulls down her sleeve and wipes her forehead with it. “It's like a steam room.”

“I warned you guys about this,” Abby mumbles. Still, despite her reservations about her family and what they're doing and, really, the whole situation, she's still excited to get her hands on some ghosts again. The thrill of the fight – and of knowing they were right all along, cough, cough,  _ Erin  _ – makes it worth it. “Okay, let's go, it's almost two.”

They march down the sidewalk in a single file line so they don't take up too much space with their proton packs. A few tourists stop and give them weird looks – “are those the Ghostbusters?” a young girl asks, tugging at her mother's sleeve. The mother gives her daughter a weird look and says that no, honey, the Ghostbusters are in New York. Patty winks at them in passing.

Fifteen minutes later, they're in front of Abby's uncle's hotel, standing and breathing and mopping the sweat off their foreheads. “They have AC in there, right?” Erin asks. “In the hotel?”

“They should.” Abby shrugs. “We ready, guys?”

“I think we're good,” Patty says, tightening the strap of her proton pack around her waist.

They go inside. It's almost as hot in the hotel as it was outside; Erin whines a little bit and tugs at the front of her coveralls. The reception is mostly empty; the adjacent bar has a few lonely customers sitting at it but nothing too busy. Nothing like that one time they had to bust a ghost in a theatre. During a production of Wicked. That was a lot of people.

The receptionist stares at them, perfectly plucked eyebrows rising in a perfect arc. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“I'm looking for my uncle,” Abby tells her. “Uncle Lou,” she calls. “We're here!”

Uncle Lou emerges from behind the office behind the receptionist's desk. “Hello!” He turns to the receptionist. “These are the people I've hired to take care of our, uh, rodent problem.”

“Oh.” The receptionist nods blankly.

Uncle Lou walks over to them, clapping Abby on the back. “Okay, girls, just do what you have to do. Just don't ruin any of the wallpaper. We just remodeled. Oh, and be out of here by six.” He lowers his voice. “I told the guests we were doing maintenance.”

“Got it,” Erin says. “No wallpaper-busting. Be quick.”

“Precisely.” Uncle Lou smiles. “Let me know if you need help. Oh, and the air-conditioning is broken.” He smiles again, quickly, and disappears back into the office. The receptionist gives them a suspicious glance, then starts typing furiously on the computer.

The Ghostbusters huddle in a circle towards the back of the room, away from the bar and away from the receptionist. “Okay, quick briefing,” Patty says. “I think most of these ghosts are young, probably children. Doesn't mean they ain't freaky, but they're small. Maybe some nuns. Nothing too brutal happened here, unless your uncle is really trying to cover something up –” She glances at Abby, who shrugs again. “I'm thinking moderately malevolent Class IIIs. IV if I look back at my books.”

“Nothing we can't handle,” Abby says. “I know we've only seen some pretty wimpy ghosts lately, so try not to scream, okay?” She glances at Erin and Patty.

“More like try not to get slimed,” Erin mutters.

Holtzmann snorts. “Maybe try not to get slimed while screaming.”

“Yeah, that shit's probably real gross.” Patty grimaces at the thought.

“How many calories do you think a cup of ectoplasm has?” Holtzmann asks, pulling a face and turning to Patty.

Patty shakes her head. “Baby, I don't even want to think about those things.”

“I feel like someone would start a ectoplasm cleanse if we knew,” Holtzmann says, tilting her head and thinking. “Like, slime in a mason jar? Buzzfeed would go crazy.”

Abby clears her throat. “Guys? We still need to find the ghosts,” she points out. “We have a limited window here, you know.”

“Four hours to catch a ghostie,” Holtzmann says leisurely. “Easy.”

–

Patty, to her credit, does  _ not  _ scream when the floating ghost of a seven-year old girl comes up behind her and says “want to play?” in a voice that is  _ way  _ too deep to be normal. Instead, she just jumps out of the way and ducks as Holtzmann fires her proton pack, whooping with glee. They're used to this – the ghost twisting out of the way, the orangey red tendrils reaching towards them, tugging them closer, sputtering out –

“This isn't normal,” Holtzmann says, fiddling with the lever. “What the –”

“It looks like the energy is going into her,” Erin says with a mounting sense of dread. “What is going on?”

“Turn it off, Holtzmann,” Abby yells. Holtzmann violently jams the lever back to “off” and the pack sputters and goes quiet. “Okay, what was that?”

The ghost girl giggles a little bit and floats down the hall.

“Small problem,” Holtzmann says, staring down at her proton pack in disbelief. “For some reason – it was like there was too much coolant.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Probably freakin' Kevin.”

“Can you fix it?” Patty asks, staring down the hall where the girl has floated away. “'Cause this is going to be an easy bust, but only if we have equipment.”

“Okay,” Holtzmann says, tapping her forehead, “I need, um, I need a space to work –”

“Second laundry room in my uncle's house,” Abby replies immediately.

Patty looks at her dubiously. “ _ Second  _ laundry room?”  _ White people. _

“I have my tools,” Holtzmann continues, starting to pace down the hall, “I really just need all the proton packs. Should be easy. Done by tomorrow.” She stops. “So this was sorta a useless outing, right?”

“Lil' bit,” Abby says, pulling a face.

“So does this mean we, uh, leave now?” Erin gestures towards the stairs. “And go someplace cooler, perhaps?”

“I guess.” Abby looks at them glumly, biting her lip.

“Hey, Abby, it's okay,” Patty says, looking at Abby sympathetically as she turns around, away from the floating ghost. “Holtzy's gonna fix this crap up and then we're gonna help your uncle out.”

“Oh, you think I'm upset about that?” Abby wrinkles her nose. “I just wanted to get this over with. And ruin the wallpaper.”

Patty chuckles and pats her on the back. “Don't worry, baby,” she says. “You'll get your busting fix.”

They trudge down the stairs and into the hotel's reception, proton packs hanging listlessly off their backs.

“All done?” Uncle Lou says, standing behind the receptionist's desk with his hands resting on the marble top. “Thank God. I was worried you'd have to come back –”

Abby puts her hands on her hips and glares. “You asked us to come down here,” she says bitingly. “And now –”

“We had some, uh, technical difficulties,” Holtzmann interrupts her, pushing Abby towards the door. “We'll fix it. It'll be over by tomorrow.”

Uncle Lou tries to hide his disappointment, but not very well. “You can't give it another go?”

“Have you heard about Chernobyl?” Holtzmann asks, throwing her arm around Abby and squeezing her shoulders so that she doesn't try to talk. “Because giving it another go would replicate that on a slightly smaller scale.” She spaces her thumb and index finger half an inch apart. “This much smaller. In your hotel.”

Uncle Lou goes pale. “Take your time,” he says and slinks back to his office.

“That was a little overdramatic,” Erin mutters, opening the door for the four of them. “I mean, it's not going to explode.”

“Hey, did you see his face?” Holtzmann says, bumping Abby's shoulder with her own. “Thought he was gonna crap his pants.”

“Yeah,” Patty says, laughing. They step outside and squint in the mid-afternoon sun. “He's gonna let us come back as often as we want.”

“Or not at all,” Erin says.

Abby laughs a little. “That was.. that was pretty funny,” she admits.

“At least we can prepare for that dinner party your aunt and uncle are throwing,” Erin says helpfully.

Snorting, Abby shakes her head. “Wonderful. Like I need all the time in the world to prepare to see my mom and tell her I don't have a boyfriend.”

“Wait,” Patty says. “Your mom lives here?”

“She moved back after Dad died,” Abby explains.

Patty wrinkles her forehead. “Why aren't we staying with her?”

Abby shrugs. “Small house.”

“Oh,” Patty says, nodding. They go quiet in the heat.

Finally, Holtzmann slaps her proton pack. “Okay, guys. Let's get these babies back to the lab so Mama Holtz can fix 'em up.”

“You mean my uncle's second laundry room when you say “the lab,” right?” Abby asks, just to make sure Holtz isn't planning on breaking and entering.

“Yup,” Holtzmann says, popping the 'p'. “Totally.”

Abby decides to believe her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: awkward family gatherings! Holtzmann tries not to blow things up!


	4. part four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My indecisive ass finally decided on some ships so I'm pleased to announce that this'll be Toltzmann. Eventually.

“How are the proton packs coming along?” Abby leans in the doorway of her uncle's second laundry room. Holtz is sitting dejectedly on top of the washing machine, staring at the screwdriver in her hands.

 

“When I tried it out in here–”

 

“You tested a proton blaster in my uncle's house and you didn't burn it down?” Abby's eyes must look like dinner plates. She sounds a little disappointed.

 

Holtzmann shrugs. “Oops?”

 

Abby looks around the room for scorch marks and only finds two. Satisfied that that's enough wallpaper damage to piss Aunt Sheri off, she nods. “Okay, moving past it. What happened?”

 

Holtzmann slides off the washing machine. “It was totally normal. Nothing weird. Then when I tested it outside – might've burned a few bushes, tell your aunt I'm sorry – the same thing happened. Fizz fuzz, partial proton reversal –” she flicks the pack with her fingernail.

 

“That is weird,” Patty says, joining Abby in the doorway. “I'm supposed to ask y'all if you prefer having the party outside or inside.”  


“Inside, please,” Holtzmann says, dramatically throwing herself back onto the washing machine. “It's so humid. I can't even see. My glasses fog up and it's like you're all monsters coming out of fog.”

 

“This is why I hate it here,” Abby says. “It's like in that Stephen King novel with the mist.”

 

“I think it's a novella, actually,” Patty says.

 

“Hmm.” Abby purses her lips. “What's the difference exactly?”

 

“I think a novella is shorter,” Patty replies. “Like, just a shorter novel?”  
  
  
  
Abby nods. “That makes sense.”

 

They stand in silence for a few seconds, staring at different walls. “Wait, hold up,” Patty says suddenly. “Holtz, you said the blaster works inside?”

 

“Like the day I built it with my baby soft hands,” Holtzmann says.

 

“But not outside?” Patty motions towards the door.

 

“That is correct.”

 

Patty claps her hands together. “I know what it is.”

 

Holtzmann tilts her head. “You do?”

 

Nodding, Patty crosses over to the air conditioner. “It's the humidity. The air conditioning dehumidifies the room, so it's more like what the things are used to in New York.”

 

“Oh my god,” Holtzmann says, spinning around in a circle. “That's why. That's why. Patricia, you are a genius.”

 

“Wait, why didn't work in the hotel then?” Abby asks, forehead wrinkled.

 

Holtzmann stops spinning. “Damn,” she hisses. “Another hypothesis debunked.”

 

“Air conditioning was broken,” Patty points out. “No dehumidifier.”

 

“Patty, I am promoting you to Master Ghostbuster.” Holtzmann smacks the washing machine with her hand. “You can now decide the toppings on the pizza for the next month.”

 

“You can't do that,” Patty says flatly. She turns to Abby. “Can she do that?”

 

Abby shrugs.

 

“I know what I have to do,” Holtzmann says. “It'll be done by six. Just in time for dinner.”

 

“Well, don't blow yourself up,” Abby says. “And if you burn the house down, make sure it's not to the foundation so insurance doesn't cover it.” She sighs, then turns to go. “Okay, I'm going to go get ready. Patty, you coming?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Patty says. “I can blend your eyeshadow.”

 

Holtzmann cheerily waves them off.

 

–

 

“Ugh,” Erin says, flopping down on the bed. “I'm so annoyed.”

 

Patty swirls the makeup brush against Abby's face. “What's wrong?”

 

“If you're worried about my mother yelling at you for breaking the TV, I think she's forgotten about it,” Abby says.

 

“That was a group effort.” Erin grits her teeth. “And I just didn't pack anything nice. I thought we'd be running around catching things... I can't show up to a party in my overalls.”

 

Abby suddenly moves away from Patty's makeup brush.

 

“Man, Abby, that was perfect,” Patty complains.

 

“You know what?” Abby says, moving towards her suitcase and pulling out clothes. “You're right, Erin. We didn't ask for this. We didn't even want a party.”

 

“Well, I didn't say _that –”_

 

“We don't have to dress up if we don't want to.” Abby crosses her arms and pulls out the ugliest looking sweater she packed, just in case there was a miracle and the temperature in New Orleans dipped below seventy degrees. The Ghostbusters logo is knitted across the front. Ghosts holding hands wrap around the rest. “I'm wearing this.” She throws Erin a shirt that has a cat on it, one eye crossed out and one eye normal. “Here, have my Schrodinger's Cat shirt.”

 

“I don't want to look ridiculous,” Erin says,

 

Patty shakes her head. “Y'all can wear whatever you want, but I'm looking good.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Wait, actually...”

 

She crosses over to her duffel bag and rummages around in it. “I think I have something that's perfect for the occasion.” She pulls out a shirt with the words BLACK IS BOO-TIFUL written across the chest. Their little ghost logo peeks out of the first “o.”

 

“Nice,” Abby says, nodding appreciatively. “If we all do it my aunt won't complain. We're, like, the guests of honor.”

 

“And we'll match Holtzmann,” Erin points out, slowly warming to the idea.

 

Collectively, they all take a moment to remember the charity ball that Holtzmann wore a snuggie to.

 

“It's a go, then,” Patty says, chuckling to herself and shaking her head.

 

–

 

“I'm not sure about this,” Erin squeaks.

 

They're standing at the window of the pool house, watching the guests mill around the living room area through the giant glass doors.

 

“They're just a bunch of phony rich people.” Abby crosses her arms. “Contributing to the death of all things good in the world.”

 

“If there is hope, it lies with the proles,” Patty says, over-dramatically dark. It earns her a chuckle from Erin and a fond glare from Abby. “Come on, Abby, it's your family. They can't be perfect but we can handle them for a night.”

 

Erin nods. “Your mom is wonderful.”

 

Abby sighs and looks back out the window. “That's what you think.”

 

“Oooookaaay,” Patty says, trading a look with Erin. “We're going to ignore the pessimism there and go down and have some fun, okay?”

 

“I wanna work on the proton packs with Holtzmann,” Abby whines. She knows she's being obnoxious and she still doesn't want to stop. “Please?”

 

“Holtzy just texted us,” Patty says calmly. “She's almost done and will be at the party in about twenty minutes.”

 

“I'm getting hungry,” Erin interjects. Her stomach growls. “Food baby.” She points at her stomach. “Crying.”

 

Abby grumbles, but doesn't protest.

 

–

 

“Abby.”

 

Dr. Cynthia Yates, PhD is not really one for excitement, so her voice is flat, but she envelops her daughter in a big hug and plants a kiss on her nose. “Dear God, what are you wearing?”

 

“It's so nice to see you, Mom,” Abby says, pulling away. “Have you met my friends?” She reaches behind her and pulls Patty forward. “This is Patricia Tolan.”

 

“It's Patty, really,” Patty says, shaking Dr. Yates's hand. “It's an honor to meet you.”

 

“Likewise.” Dr. Yates flashes her a quick but genuine smile. “You're the – the nuclear engineer?”

 

Patty shakes her head. “Oh, no. I'm the historian.”

 

“Hmm.” Dr. Yates purses her lips.

 

“Patty's a genius,” Abby blurts out. She knows that look on her mom's face. “You should see what she can do, Mom.”

 

Dr. Yates's expression relaxes. She smiles a little, but not enough to be convincing. “I believe it,” she says.

 

“And Erin is here!” Abby smiles brightly and nudges Erin in the shoulder. Erin awkwardly picks at her t-shirt and smiles. “You remember Erin!”

 

“Hmmm,” Dr. Yates says again, smile drooping. “Of course. Hello, Erin.”

 

“Dr. Yates,” Erin says, “it's so lovely to see you –”

 

“Likewise.”

 

Her voice is dripping with sarcasm.

 

“Awkward,” Erin mutters under the breath and looks away.

 

“Excuse me?” Dr. Yates pushes her glasses down over her nose. Erin swallows. She can see Abby doing the same motion in her head, something she's seen a million times.

 

“Uh, nothing,” Erin stammers out, and after a few more pleasantries Dr. Yates disappears to go find someone she knows. As soon as she's out of earshot, Erin turns to Abby. “Abby, why does your mother hate me?” she hisses.

 

Abby stares after her mother. “I honestly have no idea,” she says.

 

“That was some rivalry shit,” Patty mutters to the both of them. “Seriously, Erin. Y'all have a falling out or something?”

 

“Does she know about that time –”

 

“You abandoned me and our life's work for several years?” Abby's tone is carefully neutral.

 

Erin sighs. “Yeah. That.”

 

“I don't think she knows actually,” Abby says nonchalantly. “I never really mentioned it to her. You know, because of the shame and the disappointment.”

 

Patty snorts.

 

“Got it.” Erin grimaces. “So, no ideas what made your mom suddenly hate me?”

 

Abby shakes her head. “No, really, I've got no idea.”

 

Erin throws her hands up. “I haven't even seen her since our senior year of high school! What did I do when I was 18 that was that bad that she still remembers it?!”

 

Abby shrugs. “I honestly have no idea. I mean, she does know how to keep a grudge, but –”

 

“Guys.” Patty whacks their shoulders. “Look.”

 

They look.

 

Holtzmann stands in the middle of the living room, looking around frantically for her friends. When she finally spots them, she makes a beeline towards them, almost tripping in her flats.

 

“Oh, you look so nice,” Abby says when Holtzmann reaches them.

 

“That's my dress,” Erin says flatly. “That's the dress I was going to wear.”

 

It's not a cocktail dress, but it's still a nice dress – blue, sort of sparkly. Holtzmann's hair is down and curling against her mid-back. Abby squints and thinks she's wearing makeup.

 

“I missed a memo,” Holtzmann says, shifting uncomfortably. “Why didn't you tell me this wasn't a dress up party?”

 

“To be fair, it is,” Patty points out, motioning at the other guests who are all dressed like they're going to a wedding.

 

“We just thought that, since we didn't ask for this, we might as well just be comfortable,” Abby says plainly.

 

Erin smiles forcefully. “Comfortable and looking like crazy people who just got up from naps, but you know.”

 

Holtzmann crosses her arms. “Well, I didn't want to embarrass Abby in front of her family, so I figured I would try a little. And since I only own things from my dead relatives' closets I went through Erin's stuff. Sorry, Erin.”

 

Erin purses her lips. “Did you find my sweater? I thought I packed it but I didn't see it earlier.”

 

Holtzmann shakes her head quickly.

 

“Well, you look fabulous,” Patty says, throwing an arm across Holtzmann's shoulder. “Let's go see if Abby's aunt needs some help.”

 

“She'll be fine,” Abby says, but starts dragging her feet towards the kitchen. Patty, Holtzmann, and Erin follow her. “Aunt Sheri,” she calls, “can we do anything?”

 

“Oh, no, honey.” Aunt Sheri smiles breezily. Her dress is unstained and perfectly ironed. “The caterer is setting everything up right now.”

 

She turns away from them and nearly floats out of the kitchen. Her tinkling laugh comes through from the living room.

 

“She's got it,” Abby sighs. “'The caterer is setting everything up right now,'” she says, imitating her aunt's voice. “God. So annoying.”

 

“Why don't we just enjoy the party,” Erin says softly, rubbing Abby's upper arm. “I want to meet your cousins.”

 

“And hey, at least there's food,” Patty says. “Right, Holtzy--” She freezes. “Where's Holtzmann?”

 

In unison, the three of them look over to the giant bowl of chips in the living room. Sure enough, there she is, flopped on the couch and cramming chips into her mouth, one after the other.

 

“Holtzmann,” Abby sighs and walks over to the couch. The others follow her and perch awkwardly on the white leather cushions.

 

“I fixed the proton blasters,” Holtzmann announces. “All the fancy tech is out for this one but at least we got our babies back.” She grins, proud of herself.

 

Patty high-fives her. Erin tries to high-five her, but shrinks when she remembers the force of Holtzmann's hand the last time they did it.

 

“Nice,” Abby says approvingly.

 

“By the way, I think Abby got all the fun genes in the family,” Holtzmann says through a mouthful of chips. “This party is deader than a dead donkey.”

 

Abby can't help but smile. “Thank you, Holtzmann.”

 

The other three murmur in agreement.

 

“I feel like it might get better if we talked to people,” Erin suggests.

 

Abby stiffens. “I would just really appreciate it if maybe we didn't do that,” she says quietly.

 

The other three trade looks, then seem to come to a consensus. “Don't worry, Abby.” Patty pats her on the shoulder. “We got you.”

 

–

 

“So even though I was fired from Columbia –” _fired from Columbia._ That phrase used to unleash so much guilt and shame inside of Erin's chest, and now it's just a punchline of a joke. She takes a moment to smile to herself. “They still offered me tenure as soon as the Ghostbusters were honored by the mayor. Unofficially. But still.”

 

“If it was unofficial recognition, does it count?” One of Abby's cousins asks. Margaret? Molly?

 

“It was official if you read between the lines,” Holtzmann says quickly.

 

“Yeah, that was real nice,” Patty chimes in, “he even offered us a car that wasn't a hearse and everything.”

 

No one says anything. Only Abby's other uncle, Mark, and his husband Gavin are actually looking up and trying to maintain eye contact. Abby's cousin Marsha's daughter is barely hiding a smile. The rest are all awkwardly nodding along or preoccupied with their food.

 

“Anyway,” Patty says, hating the silence. She turns to Marsha with a bright smile on her face. “You went to Tulane, right? What'd you get your degree in?”

 

“Business.” Marsha smiles. “Tulane has a great program for that.”

 

Patty nods. “I've heard.”

 

“They also have a great Physics program,” Dr. Yates interjects. Her words are slurring a little. A tiny blond girl from the caterer's team pours her another glass of wine. “But Abby didn't want to go to Tulane.”

 

“I had a great time at the University of Michigan,” Abby says. Her voice is steely. She fixes her gaze on her mother, mouth a thin line. “It was a wonderful experience.”

 

Dr. Yates chuckles dryly. “I hope it was worth the tuition,” she sings, almost gleeful. Abby stares down at her plate, cheeks going red.

 

“Okay, Tulane is pretty expensive,” Erin says, softly but still louder than she expected she would.

 

Dr. Yates sets her wine glass down. “Abby got a full scholarship.”

 

Patty trades a look with Holtzmann. Abby's gaze is fixed on the tablecloth. Erin's mouth is opening and closing, opening and closing –

 

“But you wouldn't know that, would you?” Dr. Yates continues, looking at Erin.

 

“Okay, that's enough,” Abby says, looking at her mother. “I don't know what Erin did –”

 

“More like what she didn't do.” Dr. Yates crosses her arms. “Or what she made you not do.”

 

“Cynthia,” Uncle Mark warns quietly. Lou just looks uncomfortable.

 

“If you're just going to be mad at me and Erin why did you invite us to come?” Abby crosses her arms, too, just for the effect. “We took time out of our business to come and do you all a favor.”

 

“And we're so grateful you're here,” Uncle Lou interjects quickly.

 

Dr. Yates's mouth pinches up. “I just thought you might see how nice it is down here,” she says. “New York is a place for young people, but your family is here and – ”

 

“I have a family.” Abby thinks that, ten years ago, she would be crying now, but her eyes are dry and her voice does not tremble. “It's none of your business, anyway.”

 

“You threw your –”

 

There's a clatter, a yelp, and the unmistakeable sound of glass cracking. Holtzmann's wine glass lies in pieces on the carpet, which is now soaking in deep red wine. “Oh, dear me,” Holtzmann says, doing her best impression of a Southern belle. “How clumsy, I – I've never done anything like that before, ever, in my entire life.”

 

“Let me help you with that,” Patty says quickly, kneeling down on the floor.

 

“I think you need six hands.” Abby gets down on the floor like nobody's business and starts gingerly picking up glass shards.

 

There's rustling at the table above her. “You girls need help?”

 

“Nah, we got it,” Holtzmann says, “we're lesbians.”

 

“Wait.” It sounds like Marsha's voice. Then again, Abby thinks all of her relatives sound the same, so she can't really be sure. “All of you are lesbians?”

 

“Of course not,” Abby yells, pretending like she's just making sure everyone can hear her but really just for the effect. “Erin is bisexual.”

 

Holtzmann yelps and sticks her finger in her mouth. “I think I cut it,” she says.

 

“Let me look at that.” Patty grabs Holtz's hand and inspects it. “Nah, you're just sensitive.”

 

“It hurts.” Holtzmann starts sucking on it. “I think I'm bleeding to death.”  


  
Patty shakes her head. “Holtzy –”

 

“Are you guys ever gonna come back up?” Erin hisses, peering down at them.

 

Abby and Patty trade a look, then violently shake their heads.

 

–

 

“It could have been worse,” Holtzmann says. They're all cozy in the pool house's living room. Abby has claimed the entire couch for herself and is lying facedown on it. She makes a noise that sounds like 'mmmph.'

 

“Pardon?” Erin asks.

 

Abby rolls her face to the side so her mouth is free. “I don't wanna do this. I hate my family.”

 

Patty sighs and looks up from her reading. “I just think there was a little tension between you and your mom.”

 

“Tension like a string being pulled by two different elephants in different directions,” Holtzmann offers helpfully.

 

“You know, maybe I should just talk to her,” Erin says. “I mean, obviously there's some unresolved feelings –”

 

“Just leave it,” Abby whines. “I'll call her tomorrow.” She perks up a little. “Or maybe never.” Smiling lightly, she rolls off the couch and lands on the carpet with a _thump._

 

Patty makes a face. “Ouch,” she mutters.

 

“I'm fine,” Abby says, face now buried in the carpet.

 

“Maybe you should go to bed,” Patty suggests. “We have a full day of work tomorrow.”

 

Holtzmann nudges Abby with her toe. “Abby,” she sing-songs, “sleeping on the carpet won't support your spine.”

 

“You sleep on a work bench 99% of the time,” Abby retorts.

 

“Abby,” Holtzmann says, placing a hand over her chest. “The truth wounds me.”

 

Abby rolls around and sits up, grabbing onto the table for support. “Ok. I'm gonna go to bed.”

 

“I'll come tuck you in,” Erin offers.

 

“Awww,” Patty says, smiling so hard her dimples showing.

 

Holtzmann squishes her own cheeks between her palms, pushing them forward so that she looks a little bit like a fish. “So cute.”

 

–

 

“You really don't need to tuck me in,” Abby says. She bounces on the edge of the bed.

 

“I know,” Erin says quickly. She closes the window, then turns around to face Abby. “I wanted to ask you something.”

 

Abby settles into her bed, lacing her hands together over her stomach. “Okay.”

 

Erin hesitates, then leans forward. “Why didn't you tell me you got a full scholarship to Tulane?”

 

Abby sighs. “I –”

 

“It's such a good school,” Erin says. “And we have so much debt. God. We have so much debt.”

 

“I knew you would've made me go,” Abby replies, shrugging.

 

Erin scoffs. “Well, yeah.”

 

“My mom almost did,” Abby says, not making eye contact. “But I wanted to stay in Michigan.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why would I leave my best friend?” Abby says it like it's obvious – and, Erin supposes, it is. “We had so much to do in college, Erin. And I only wanted to do it with you.”

 

 _And then I left,_ Erin realizes. A wave of guilt washes over her. “Abby –”

 

“I wouldn't have had it any other way,” Abby says forcefully. “I'm serious, Erin.”

 

Erin laughs dryly, trying not to cry. “So you blew off your mom to stay with me.” Erin throws her hands in the air. “That's why she hates me!” She's almost relieved. Then she carries her train of thought to the inevitable conclusion; her relief falters and dies. “Your mom thinks I'm dragging you down,” Erin says finally, voice cracking. She swallows. “Okay. I get that. It's...understandable.”

 

“Erin, no,” Abby says, propping herself up on the mattress.

 

“I just –”

 

“Sit.” Abby motions towards the bed. Erin sinks down on it, wordlessly. “Okay, you're on my calf. Can you just – okay, thanks. That's good.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Anyway.” Abby fixes her with a steely look. “You are not dragging me down. You are my best friend and we are a team and the Ghostbusters would not be complete without you. Okay, Erin? Do you believe me?”

 

Erin looks off to the side, wringing her hands together. “But I –”

 

“But nothing!” Abby waves her hand in front of Erin's face. “Hello, am I not getting a clear signal here? You are my best friend. I don't care what my family thinks because you are my family and you have been since you were fifteen, which means that I officially know you longer than I've known at least three of my cousins.”

 

“Okay,” Erin says, laughing shakily. “Sorry. I should be giving you the pep talk.”

 

Abby motions as if to say “go ahead, please.”

 

“I'm sorry we pressured you into going on this vacation.” Erin sighs. “We should have talked to you about being uncomfortable with your family.”

 

“Thank you,” Abby mouths.

 

“And you're my best friend. And you deserve better than the drama that happened at dinner.”

 

She pauses.

 

“You deserve a Class V malevolent entity that makes you look extremely cool while you're busting it.”

 

Abby pats Erin's arm. “Aw, that was a great pep talk!”

 

Erin tilts her head. “Really?”

 

“No, but it made me feel better anyway.” Abby beams.

 

“Okay, good,” Erin says, relieved.

 

Abby holds out her arms. “Squish time,” she says. They hug, Abby drawing circles on Erin's back. “Okay, I need to sleep before our bust tomorrow,” Abby says, pulling back. “Good night, Erin.”

 

“Good night, Abby,” Erin says, getting up.

 

Abby slides under the covers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this chapter end up being so long? No one knows.


	5. part five

Patty looks down the hall to check if Erin's really gone, then turns back to Holtzmann. “You think Abby is going to be okay?” she asks, settling down on the couch.

 

“Yeah,” Holtzmann says, flopping onto the couch and using Patty as a cushion. “She has wontons. And us.”

 

Patty nods. “I figured.”

 

“She'd tell you if something were really bad,” Holtzmann says. “She'd tell all of us.”

 

“I just haven't known her for that long,” Patty says, shrugging, which makes Holtzmann grumble and shift. “I don't know. Y'all have been friends for like, forever.”

 

“We knew each other,” Holtzmann admits. “But we were only a group when you came along.”

 

Something in Patty warms. She doesn't quite know what to say. _Thank you_ seems a little arrogant.

 

“You looked nice tonight,” she says instead.

 

“I clean up pretty.”

 

“Nah, Holtzy,” Patty says, leaning her head on Holtzmann's (or, more accurately, Holtzmann's hair). “You're always pretty.”

 

–

 

“Day two of the New Orleans bust,” Holtzmann says in a gravelly voice, using the 'zoom' feature of her video camera to dramatically zoom in and out of Patty's face. “Ladies, gentlemen, esteemed friends outside the gender binary, prepare to be amazed –”

 

“Holtzmann, don't walk into that street lamp!” Abby yells and pulls her out of the way.

 

“The obstacles we face emerge out of nowhere,” Holtzmann continues, “and we can only escape them through teamwork and –”

 

“Tree,” Patty says, yanking Holtzmann to the side.

 

“ – through our group's psychic, nearly twin-like connection –”

 

“Wouldn't we be quadruplets?” Erin coughs and gingerly steps over a root that's made its way through the sidewalk.

 

“ – only through our group's psychic, nearly quadruplet-like connection will we vanquish –”

 

“Okay, enough.” Patty snatches the camera out of Holtz's hand. “You can film the ghosts when we're at the hotel.”

 

Holtzmann pouts. “Alriiiight,” she says. She tries to make a grab for the camera, but Patty holds it over head, snickering a little.

 

They make it to the hotel a bit faster than the day before. The sky is overcast; there's a hint of rain in the air. Abby knows the downpours, knows the torrents of water that dash down from the sky one minute and are gone the next, leaving everything dripping and muddy and the plants a bright, luscious green. Still. Rain isn't ideal for a bust. Besides, water might ruin the fragile repair Holtzmann did on the proton blasters – despite what Holtzmann claims, all of her repairs – heck, all of her inventions – are fragile. Like “oh, Kevin accidentally poured coffee on that tiny beeping thing, we'll just dry it off. Wait, _what do you mean it's been banned by the EU because it explodes at the slightest provocation?!”_

 

That kind of fragile.

 

“Here we go,” Abby announces. “I don't think this'll be hard.”

 

“That's not what we're telling your uncle, though,” Patty says, “we're telling him that this was the most difficult bust of our _life._ ”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Erin crosses her arms and puts on her best “I'm tough” face. “Your uncle will feel so guilty that he will cry.”

 

“I can break some of Erin's bones, if you want to make it more believable.” Holtzmann reaches towards Erin, who jumps out of the way with a shriek.

 

“Holtzmann!”

 

“What?” Holtzmann blinks innocently. “You have health insurance.”

 

“So?” Erin splutters. “You have health insurance! Why don't I break your bones?”

 

Patty lays a calming hand on Erin's shoulder and glared at Holtzmann. “Holtzy, do you have death insurance? Not life insurance. I'm talking the kind of insurance that will resurrect your stupid ass when Erin ends up throwing you out a window.”

 

Holtz pulls a face. “Don't have that,” she mutters.

 

“Okay then, let's catch a ghost!” Abby says, striding purposely towards the door.

 

“Yeah, I'm cool with that.” Patty links her arm with Erin's and drags her towards the door.

 

“Ghost time, ghost time, ghost time,” Holtzmann sings, hopping from one foot to the other.

 

–

 

The hotel is eerily quiet, like something's been awaiting their presence. Anticipation hangs in the air, even the palm fronds outside the window seem to hold their breath –

 

“Back again?” It's the receptionist. She looks at them from behind her computer, annoyed. “I thought we had fixed our vermin problem.”

 

“Well, it came back,” Abby says defiantly. “And we're here to catch 'em.”

 

“It's a real... bad situation up there.” Patty tries her best to look as gloomy as possible. “Like, rats in the wall. Rats in the ceiling. Rats in the closet.”

 

“I've been there,” Holtzmann says, turning to look at Patty. “Not fun. No rats should have to hide who they are.”

 

“I know, baby, I know,” Patty replies, shaking her head.

 

The receptionist looks at them like they are completely bonkers.

 

“We'll be out of your hair later,” Erin says and smiles quickly. “Okay, bye!”

 

She herds the rest of the team up to the second floor.

 

“Ghostie,” Abby calls, swinging her proton blaster around. She misses her little punching weapon, but New Orleans always manages to screw her over one way or the other and she's not surprised it was like this. “Ghostie, we wanna kick your butt! Show yourself!”

 

“I think that may make it not wanna come here,” Holtzmann points out. She throws her head back. “Ghoooooooooooost!” she calls. “We don't want to kick your butt. Don't show yourself.” She claps. “See?”

 

“I don't think that worked,” Patty says.

 

Erin purses her lips.

 

“What if it did?” someone whispers in Patty's ear.

 

Patty yelps and turns around, smacking the receptionist full-force in the chest. Except she doesn't fall back like a human, her face doesn't twist up in pain like a human –

 

She floats in the air, smiling a little. “Not hard enough,” she says. “The hit, I mean.” She looks around the hotel in wonder. “It's a beautiful world these days, isn't it? I learn so fast.” She fixates her gaze on Holtzmann. Then Erin. Then Abby. Then Patty. “I only spoke French yesterday. And today I know English. And tomorrow –” she turns in the air, gracefully, a ballerina unbound by gravity.

 

Abby sprints up to her and slaps her full-force across the face.

 

“Why don't you try?” the ghost teases.

 

“Okay, honestly, I did,” Abby admits, breathing heavily, “but I'm just gonna try a little harder.”

 

She whacks the ghost again. It takes a minute, but the receptionist falls over; the spirit dashes out of the body, gleefully giggling. Patty shudders. It's the little girl from yesterday. Holtzmann shoots her with a proton blast – this time, there's no fizzing, no transfer of energy. Just the force they're used to and the ghost girl's (sorry, Erin) screams. Holtzmann holds the line of fire steady, calling over her shoulder. “Okay, guys, we're gonna need to –”

 

Somehow, the girl escapes, drifts upwards towards the ceiling. “What the heck –” Abby mutters.

 

And then the ghosts descend.

 

–

 

“I think I killed a priest!” Patty yells, dissolving another spirit.

 

“He was already dead,” Abby reminds her and ducks as sickly looking boy charges towards her. “Why are they all so pissed?”

 

“Watch out, Patty,” Holtzmann calls. Patty ducks automatically, just low enough for the proton stream not to graze the back of her uniform as Holtzmann nails a nun.

 

 _Okay,_ Patty thinks, _that sounded wrong._ She swallows and tries to concentrate. “These are people from all different time periods,” she says. “The guy Erin got earlier – that was like, 1920s. These people are from way before that.”

 

“Why did they all come at once?” Erin asks, panting. She's sweating through her coveralls.

 

“Yeah, really,” Abby says and squints up at the horde of green glowing figures gathering in the hall. “Where are these ghosts coming from?”

 

“Ghost party.” Holtzmann's still battling the nun. “All the cool ghosts are here.” Slowly but surely, they work their way to the back of the hallway, wiping slime off their faces (or, in Erin's case, hands and wrists and every exposed inch of skin). The nun holds on. The girl floats, just above the action. All around them, ghosts are trying to escape and fleeing and spreading ectoplasm on the carpet.

 

Abby coughs. “Which one do we wanna take back to New York?”

 

“I don't think any of these people are pleasant company,” Patty says.

 

“All of them,” Abby says at the same time.

 

“We have to agree on something,” Erin says matter-of-factly. “We only have one containment unit.”

 

“That one.” Abby points at the girl. “She's strong.”

 

“Maybe we should take one of these weaker ghosts,” Patty suggests. “How about this nun?” she points at the nun caught in Holtzmann's proton beam. Then she – the nun, not Holtzmann – promptly dissolves into a puddle of ectoplasmic goo. “Okay, not that nun. I think there are other nuns around here, though. I saw some earlier.”

 

Abby shakes her head. “This kid is the real deal,” she says. “I mean, the only time we've seen human possession with that level of _control_ –”

 

“Was Rowan,” Erin finishes for her. “Which was, you know.” She coughs. “So fun!”

 

Holtzmann rubs her neck at the memory.

 

Patty clears her throat. “Uh, Abby, I see your reasoning, but I think we should maybe prioritize us not dying and causing the apocalypse to the research.”

 

“We need to get rid of the girl,” Holtzmann agrees. “Right away.”

 

Abby frowns. “You're right,” she admits. “Okay, guys. Let's find a nun.” She points her proton blaster at the girl. “Light 'er up.”

 

The girl is awash in green-red light, shrieking, already twisted features distorting into something even a funhouse mirror wouldn't allow. “I'm not –” she shouts, then bursts into ectoplasm. All the other ghosts follow suit, every one of them, all the soldiers and children and fancy dressers from the Mardi Gras balls; all of them disappear, just like that, some with shrieks, some silently.

 

“Well, that was creepy,” Abby says after a minute of prolonged, shocked silence.

 

They start scraping ectoplasm off the carpet and into the containment unit – “We have to do some tests,” Holtzmann says. “Maybe it had something to do with the changes I made. Who knows.” She shrugs. When the mess is about as cleared up as it can be, they close the ghost trap with a click.

 

Abby stares at it suspiciously, then shrugs. “Anyone want beignets?”

 

–

 

“We're done in your hotel,” Abby says into the phone. She swats Holtzmann's hand holding a powdered-sugar covered beignet away from her face. “You're welcome.”

 

“They're all gone?” Uncle Lou makes a gulping sound. “Thank you so much, Abigail.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Abby shrugs. “We're going to take the rest of the day off, hang out a bit.”

 

She hangs up.

 

“You know, that was a weirdly sentient ghost,” Holtzmann comments, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

 

“Children, man.” Patty shakes her head. “Creepy as hell.”

 

Erin swallows a bite of beignet. “It was like – I don't know. Did anyone else get the impression she was sort of controlling the others?” She laughs nervously.

 

“We're going to need to analyze that ectoplasm when we get back to New York.” Abby sighs. “We leave tomorrow?”

 

“Can we _please_ stop in a motel overnight?” Patty asks. “My neck still hasn't recovered from sleeping in the car.”

 

“You know, why don't we leave the day after tomorrow?” Erin blinks. “I was really hoping to –“

 

“Are you about to say 'apologize to Abby's mom for something you didn't do?'” Abby asks, crossing her arms.

 

“Maybe?” Erin squeaks.

 

“No.” Abby coughs. “We're leaving tomorrow. And we're getting a nice hotel, at least something with a breakfast buffet. We deserve that after this.”

 

“Yes,” Patty cheers under her breath. She looks at Erin. “Sorry.”

 

Holtzmann takes that moment to blow powdered sugar off of her beignet and onto Patty's face. Patty coughs, then sneezes, then picks up the powdered sugar dispenser off the table and shakes it into Holtzmann's hair.

 

“Guys!” Erin looks around, but no one in the cafe is looking at them. “That stuff attracts ants –”

 

In response, Abby flicks the mound of powdered sugar on her beignet onto Erin's nose. “Oops.”

 

She smiles.

 

–

 

In the hearse, the containment unit begins to tremble.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay plot!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at localgaysian!


End file.
